Rain
by obaona
Summary: An Ani/Padme fic. Angst, not mush. Please read this and review it.


Archive: I'll be astonished, but please still ask.

Rating: G. PG at the most.

Author's Notes: Um. I vanquished my computer with the almighty restart. 

Feedback: YES!!! I'm begging . . . and be gentle. First Ani/Ami fic ever.

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RAIN 

I've always had mixed feelings about rain. Its so different from sand – not dry and coarse, but smooth and silky. And as hard to hold in my hand. It can be a welcome relief from heat, or chill you to the bone. Rain can make you very cold – and it was something that didn't end quickly, like getting thrown into a lake, for instance. It just kept coming, freezing you all over again. I knew that from experience, having learned it on my many missions with my Master.

Rain such as that fell on me now, running in rivulets down to the ground, my heavy cloak dragging.

I walked down the street, past wilted white flowers trodden down beneath the rain's heavy step. The paved street was hard and slick, and I moved carefully down it. Small houses, their windows drawn shut and the curtains drawn, lined the way. I was in an older district, with the traditional architecture of Naboo. There were graceful lines and beautiful sculptural art everywhere – even the houses seemed to be works of art. Every one of those houses represented beautiful art, but only one held something that was truly special. 

My wife, Padmé Amidala Skywalker, who I loved beyond words.

I went to her doorstep, taking my time on the slippery steps. Throwing the hood of my robe back, I let water hit my face without caring. When she opened the door, I wanted her to see it was I, Anakin. I felt a smile touch my lips and my hand gently touched the door that was streaked with water. So little separated us. And soon, there would be nothing. We would be together, Padmé and I. 

Breathing in the humid air, I knocked. Then I waited, letting my eyes close and my senses expand. I could hear those across the street laughing, I could hear the littlest pit-pat of rain hitting the hard ground, and I could even hear the softer noise of it hitting soft dirt. I could feel every coarse hair of my clothes. I heard the slight click of the door being unlocked, and I opened my eyes.

She was there.

Dark brown hair fell down to her waist in the perfect curls that I knew so very well. She wore a black gown that looked heavy and covered her body closely, all the way up to her neck. It was a dark, somber thing. Her hand rested on the door even as she looked out. Glancing over her, soaking in her simple presence, I was drawn to her eyes. A simple brown, but it was what shone in them that mattered to me. Her love for me had always shone through her simple brown eyes, even in those public moments when we were forced to be silent. 

Yet . . . they were shuttered now. Closed.

"My love?" I whispered. "What happened? What's wrong?" I stepped forward into the entrance of the house, heedless of my sopping wet robe and muddy boots. My hands went to her shoulders, to gently touch and encourage. She shied away. Because of how wet I was, surely. 

Surely. 

She stepped away and to the side, to let me enter. I did so, ignoring the bright colors of our house. She had finally moved here after our marriage, and out of her parents' home. It was time, she had said, to build a new, happy life with me. She had, and still did, treasure her parents but she needed her independence – with me. We had chosen this house carefully, and she decorated it with her love and grace, filling it with dark wood and elegantly simple white furniture. 

"We must talk," she said softly, not meeting my eyes. I noticed that her skin was pale and drawn tight. She looked thin, far too thin. Her lips were pale and colorless, not the beautiful pink that I remembered, and ached to kiss. 

I touched her lips, gently. I felt her sudden breath, warm and real, against my fingertips. Then her hand, pale as her face, came to my hand. She pressed my hand to her cheek, and her eyes fluttered shut for the barest of moments. 

"Oh, Padmé," I breathed.

With that she turned abruptly, nearly yanking herself away from my touch. My throat closed in a soundless question. _Why? _

She did not face me. Her hands nervously smoothed the long, tight skirt she wore, and she moved to the living room, a room full of comfortable a comfortable couch, a few chairs, flowers, and memories.

At that moment it felt dark and I realized that most of the lights were off, leaving the room in shadow. 

She walked to one of the couches, a plush white one – now gray, in the darkness. She moved gracefully and confidently, as always. My beautiful Padmé. I followed her, and sensing her need to be separate from me, sat across from her in a slight, wooden chair. My wet robe dragged on the carpet, and I quickly threw it off onto another chair.

I leaned forward, my eyes focused on her. "Tell me, Padmé. Why did you ask me here? What is so urgent, my love? Palpatine –"

"Do not speak his name in this house."

I fell silent in shock. She had spoken so harshly, spitting her words out with hate. "My love –"

"I called you here to tell you something," she said softly – very softly, but interrupting me with ease nonetheless. Her head was bowed, her curls shadowing her beautiful cheekbones and leaving her eyes in the darkness of their shadow. I wished for more light, to see her beautiful face. Her lips were tight, her expression strained but controlled. 

I waited, and ignored the water slowly dripping off my Padawan braid. There was . . . only her, in that moment. Just her.

She took a deep breath, and began. "I know that Palpatine requested you, during the Clone Wars. That you would often go on special missions for him." Her hands, once limply on her lap tensely twisting. "I _know_ what those _special missions_ were, Anakin." She looked up at me, and her dark eyes blazed with fury and outrage. Her hands clenched into fists, and she spat out, "How could you?"

"Padmé – you must believe me, what I did, it was the only way!" I said desperately, leaning forward and silently hoping she would meet my eyes. I had to make her understand. She had to see it, see it as my mentor, Palpatine, had shown it to me.

She threw her head back, and her hands fell loose. "Murder? Murder was the only way? Oh, Anakin." Tears fell down her face and she met my eyes. 

"They were our enemies, Padmé! They sought to destroy what you had worked for – all of it. They would have given us to our enemies –"

She leapt up and screamed at me. "They sought peace! Peace to end this horrible war!" She stopped talking, then, and turned her head away. She walked past the couch she had sat on, letting her fingers trail along a dark, wooden table set against the wall. Then she slowly turned back to me.

"That's not true," I said shakily. Shaken at her insistence – her belief. "Palpatine said it was only an excuse –" I said, shaking my head in denial.

"And your Master? What would he think of this?" She gave me a bitter smile, and walked close to me, leaning down to stare at me where I sat.

"My Master does not see –" I began, forcing my voice to remain steady.

"No," Padmé whispered, staring into my eyes, "he does not." She was sad again, and more silent tears slipped down her cheeks. "He is blind to what Palpatine is doing to you – even as I once was. We were both blinded by our . . . love."

She took a deep breath, her shoulders shaking. Those beautiful brown eyes looked at me, and she spoke. "I'm leaving you."

I couldn't breathe, my chest felt tight and empty. I had no breath within me, and my heart had stopped. I stared at her and my mouth opened, but no words would come out. Only when I tasted the saltiness of my own tears did I realize I was crying. "No," I whispered, the word drawn from the pit of my stomach. "Why? Padmé . . ." I held my hands out to her, beseeching.

She pushed them aside. "Don't doubt me, Anakin. I will do it. I will do what I must to shock some sense into you, to make you see your own blindness." She spoke softly, but a layer of steel underlined her words. It was a steel that I knew well – a steel that had allowed to her be Queen, and stand for her people in a time of war. 

"I did it for you, Padmé!" I shouted, rising to my feet at last. My legs felt weak, but I didn't let that stop me. She must see! "How can you say that? How can you say – say _I_ am blind?"

"You are blind!" Padmé hissed at me, eyes sparking. I used to love that look, that tightly hidden fire that drove her to fight for her causes. "Palpatine twists you – uses you for some reason that I don't know! I hate it!"

"Palpatine is a great man," I said, my voice breaking with anger. "He has guided me through everything. Through the doubts of the Jedi Council, and even my own Master!" I slammed my palm down on the table. It wasn't until then that I realized I had been getting closer to her, even as she backed away from me.

Padmé flinched when my hand hit the table. She stared at me for a long moment, panting with emotion. "I cannot love a man who disgusts me with his ideals." Softly spoken, but each word was a stab through my heart. I doubled over, gasping.

"Padmé . . . you must love me." Must. It couldn't be any other way. It was simply not possible.

"How," she began, then stopped. The tears fell down her face, and her lips trembled as she struggled to speak. "How can I love what I have lost?" And she touched my cheek, just the barest of touches. 

She didn't love me anymore. 

In that moment, I wanted to hit her, slap her. Make her love me. But in the next moment, I realized that wasn't possible. I couldn't hit the person I loved more than life. She was the person that had held me when my mother died. The person that I admired and respected most. And I could not make her love me – love, I knew in some instinctive way, could only be freely given.

I was empty. My heart felt like lump of lead in my chest. I turned away from her, away from her touch, away from her face. I panted, my life in crumbles around me.

Crumbles she had caused. How dare she. I was her husband – why could she not support me? Love me? Gasping with tears, I screamed. My hands clenched my hair painfully. 

A gentle hand touched my head, but I lurched away from her touch. I would not have her pity. Anger filled me – strong, very strong. It was familiar, the anger I felt. That dark _want_ for something to ease the pain. For vengeance. Except there was no vengeance to be had.

It simply was.

I grabbed the chair I had been sitting on happily only minutes before, glad to be home with my wife. My hands clenched around its legs, and with a growl deep in my throat, I threw it at the near wall. It splintered at impact, and I felt a rush of satisfaction. The anger filled the emptiness, that infinite emptiness. 

"Anakin!" Padmé's voice.

I whirled. Padmé, who had been less than a meter behind me, stumbled back at the suddenness of it. Her face was deathly pale, paler than before. The anguish in her eyes was horrifyingly intense. One hand, pale and trembling, reached out. "Ani . . . come back to me. I don't _want_ to lose you."

Come back. Come back and see things my way – that was what she was saying. 

"I am not the blind one," I whispered hoarsely. I forced my head to turn. Forced myself to look away from her. 

"Anakin!" she shouted, her voice throaty and harsh with despair. I felt a flicker of pain in what was left of my heart, but I ignored it.

I stormed out of the house, past the fragments of the chair, past all the memories. I stumbled on the marble floor before the door, and then roughly opened it and half fell down the steps. The rain streamed down my face, mixing my tears. Hiding them. Hiding my pain, as it were. Rain is truly a mixed blessing. It makes you cold – so cold, but it hides your tears. She would not see me cry. 

The street was cold and hard. Slipping, I fell to my knees.

"Anakin!" Warm hands on my back and shoulders. I shrugged them off I rose. She had made her decision and I had made mine. "Please, Anakin. Come back to me – be with me, my husband. I only want you to see . . ." Her voice was so broken. So faint I could barely hear it over the patter of the rain.

But all I could feel was emptiness. Those words inspired no desire to protect her, nothing. Only that dark pit of anger helped me. Yes, I realized, it would help me now.

So I left her in the street, on her knees and her black dress pooled around her. Her curls went limp in the rain, and clung to her perfect cheekbones as if to accent them. She looked like a harbinger of death, black hair, black eyes and the palest skin, so perfectly white. And those eyes stared with such hopelessness and disbelief. For the briefest of moments, I paused, as I glanced over my shoulder. Then I just walked.

And I left _her_ behind.

With my soul.

But Palpatine would know what to do. He always did. Yes, he would know what to do. He was always there for me, he would advise me. He had been there to cheer me on when I told him of my marriage – he would be there when I told him the ending of it.

The rain kept falling, throughout the whole night. It must have hid Padmé's tears – as it did my own.

THE END.


End file.
